


Beside You in Time

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Charms, Hogwarts, Legilimens, Multi, Occlumency, Potions, Slytherin, The Chamber Of Secrets, Tom Riddle's Diary, Transfiguration, horcrux, voldemort - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needed to know that he was not one of us. He would never be one of us.</p>
<p>Abraxas recounts his relationship with Tom Riddle over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

> I have been itching to write Abraxas' tale for a long while.   
> Endless thanks go out to my friend, writing partner, muse, and cohort, Unkissed. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

_It wasn’t always this way. There was a time, when we were younger and colder; when, with our own actions, we strived to be something our parents could be proud of. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him, this heir of Slytherin himself who would one day be the undoing of us all. He was merely a boy. A half-blood, shabby thing that was anything but welcome in our beloved Slytherin house. It was easy to taunt him because he was a clear target and he never once resisted. Even when Lestrange held him down while Avery bloodied his nose and bruised his body that time in an abandoned section of dungeon corridor. I remember watching him intently as my housemates and comrades worked him over; how he still managed to hold his head so high. I knew it would only bring about more trouble for him, but still I watched, and I think that even back then, at a mere thirteen years old, I was fascinated._

_He was not one of us, it was important that he learned this lesson. He would never be one of us._

_Never._

 

**The start**

 

The house sorting at Hogwarts is a time-tested tradition. One that has been carried down from generation to generation; each new crop of magical children who were eager to learn, offered themselves up to the raggedy hat who’s origin would always remain a mystery. I partook in this tradition myself, just as my ancestors and most certainly the family that would come after me. It was no great surprise when the old hat, having only barely grazed the flaxen halo of hair I wore, shouted “ ** _Slytherin!”_** and sent me on my way to the folds of green and silver that I would both worship and abhor for the remainder of my life.  I watched in earnest as my fellows were sorted amongst me; my circle of friends was already a fairly large one, thanks in part to my privileged upbringing. Titus Avery and Rigel Lestrange were the best of the lot in my eyes, and although we all came from long lines of Slytherins, it pleased me still when they joined me at our new house table. I watched the rest of the students sort and clapped politely for each new Slytherin. When Tom Riddle stepped up to the hat I narrowed my eyes and had my first proper look of him.  He was a lithe and shabby creature whose pallor was accentuated by the dark fall of curls sat atop his head, but it was his eyes which struck me at first glance, and it would be those eyes that would strike me again and again over the span of my life.  They were fathomless dark orbs that seemed to speak volumes about things you could not begin to imagine. All eyes were on him as he held his head high and I can tell you that I was as shocked as the rest of my housemates when the old hat shouted **“Slytherin!”** before it ever touched him, and I know that it will sound foolish to say, but I could have sworn that old hat moved away from him. Oh, nothing drastic or even particularly noticeable really, just a slight cringe as if to say _oh, I’d like not to touch that_ or some other such thing. Of course I dismissed the hallucination and turned my attention to the end of the table, where Riddle had just joined us. I did not miss the way my housemates surreptitiously inched away from him or the way he seemed not to care. His demeanor struck me as the type that had little use of camaraderie, even though he had yet to utter a single word. When I inquired as to the meaning behind our fellows making space between the reedy boy and themselves, I was met with imperious and knowing smirks all around. Later, Titus would explain that Tom Riddle was a penniless, orphan half-blood and then I would understand. He was everything that we Slytherins were not, and I, like my comrades, believed him to be out of place in our coveted house.

 

Over the course of my first year at Hogwarts I learned a great many things. I learned that my natural ability with lessons afforded me quite a lot of grace in the eyes of my Professors. I excelled in practical subjects like Potions and History of Magic and my natural disdain for subjects like Herbology and Charms were more than likely inherited. Classes were always an interesting affair, some more interesting than others. I would like to boast that I was top of my house in academic accolades, but I would be wrong to say so, because how ever high my marks were, Tom Riddle’s were always higher. He was the outcast of the school, even his own house didn’t want him, and it never slowed him down. He was always there with a raised hand, ready to answer any question our Professors threw at us, and although it irked me, this unspoken competition, I couldn’t deny that he was well versed, especially for a half-blood.  His eagerness to please earned Slytherin a great many house points over the course of that first year, not that any of us bothered to care. We treated him like the pariah that he was. During lessons he was always the last of us to be chosen when we were to be paired off, and he was always left to his lonesome at the very end of the Slytherin table when we dined. Tom was generally absent from the Slytherin common room; undoubtedly his time was better spent in the Library where he would devour any materials worth reading that he could get his hands on. I did not fail to notice how he charmed his way into a great number of things. Professors seemed to fawn over his eagerness to learn and he never once appeared the slightest bit phased by our poor treatment of him. When Rigel tripped him in the great hall one morning during lunch, Tom said not a word; he simply picked himself up, dusted off his knees and took his seat as if he was impervious to the laughter and taunts directed at him. When Lucretia incendio’d his Charms essay, he did not even bat an eyelash. He merely charmed the Professor into giving him an extra day to finish.

 

Transfiguration was always an outlandish affair. Professor Dumbledore was head of Gryffindor house and it was made painfully clear that they were his favored students. Slytherins did not bother trying to excel in Dumbledore’s class because it was fruitless. Of course he was fair with us in terms of our work, but it was not easy to miss the way his gaze would pass over the raised hand of a Slytherin in favor of a Gryffindor. This never seemed to matter to Tom though, because his hand was _always_ raised high and Professor Dumbledore never once called upon him. As the year passed on, I began to wonder if there was some deeper meaning behind the subtle rivalry between Riddle and Dumbledore, and in time, I would come to understand it all.

 

By the time our first term had ended I was pleased to be returning to Malfoy Manor. I longed for the warm summer afternoons that I would spend lying in the lawns or swimming in the lake that sat on the far end of our estate. I would revel in my freedom between first and second year and never once think upon the peculiar half-blood boy that didn’t really belong anywhere.

  
My second year of schooling was not much different than the first. Sure, we were a bit older, a bit bolder; we were after all, no longer the bottom rank of underclassmen. An entirely new crop of Slytherins would join our folds and we would continue on as we always had. Much to the dismay of our house, Tom Riddle returned as well, looking just as shabby as he had the year before with his threadbare robes and severely groomed head of hair. It was this year that I truly strove to step out ahead of my pack of fellow classmates, and I chose Potions class to do it.

 

Potions were easily my best subject and Professor Slughorn was a perfect mentor to hone my craft under. Not only was Slughorn our head of house, but also he seemed to favor the _right_ kind of student. I am a Malfoy, and as such, I am more than versed in the art of persuasion for the sake of getting what I want. I would like to tell you that it was easy to gain Slughorn’s favor, and it was for the most part. I was one of the first to receive an invitation for the newly formed _Slug Club_ and I coveted the opportunity. You can imagine my surprise when, at the very first gathering, I came face to face with Tom Riddle. We were two Slytherins amongst a handful of other students and we couldn’t have been more estranged. Of course, this didn’t faze Tom. He had clearly worked his charms on Professor Slughorn to get into the club, and continued to do so in the most unabashed ways. For his part, Slughorn gobbled up all of the attention and heartily accepted offerings from his most prized students, Tom the most prized of us all.  Over the course of that year I grew to loathe Tom Riddle. It was maddening to me that this simple upstart had managed to worm his way into the hearts and favor of so many. His actions and intentions were _clearly_ Slytherin of nature, but the rest of us refused to see that. He was an unwanted trespasser and we knew that we were going to have to deal with him eventually.

 

That time came in the middle of my third year at Hogwarts, and I can say now that I garner little pleasure from my part in the events that transpired that night.

 

The plan had come about after a heated discussion around the fire in the Slytherin common room. Of course Tom was absent from the proceedings; he was always absent. He was rarely in our company and none of us had any true idea of where he went or what he did. Of course, there were rumors. Some say he was beheading woodland creatures deep in the forbidden forest under the cover of darkness. Others insisted he was brewing illegal potions in some hidden room within the castle, and others still, murmured quietly about a torrid love affair with the staunch librarian.

 

Of course, I was reluctant to believe any of these things. In all of my studies of Riddle he never once struck me as the type to have any use for mindless torture or sins of the flesh. If anything, I would say that Tom Riddle was a master of persuasion and could effectively charm just about _anyone_ into giving him what he wanted; Professor Dumbledore, not withstanding. He was well versed in sympathy ploys and could be devastatingly humble when it suited him; I had seen it first hand in many a class.  I had no real idea what Tom did in all of that time away from the rest of us, and I had no desire to find out.

 

It was Walburga who suggested we rough him up, to _teach him a lesson_ and _put him in his rightful place._ I was not the only one who was offended by Riddle’s imperious demeanor. It was decided that we would corner him in the dungeons the following eve and give him our lesson. We lay in wait for him to return to the Slytherin common room and I have to point out how utterly agonizing it was to wait idle, hours into the night and long after curfew for him to finally make an appearance. It was Titus who stepped out of the shadows as he passed and grabbed him, with Rigel quickly taking up the other side. When I stepped out of the shadows I could feel Riddle’s gaze on me and if I had to guess, I’d say he was not the least bit surprised by our actions; in fact, he didn’t even put up a fight. Before my comrades drug him deeper into the musty dungeons I fished his wand out of his robes and I will not deny how pleased I was when he tensed under my scant touch.  It empowered me to see Tom like this. Even when he was knocked down on all fours and his blood spilled onto the stones beneath his hands, he still managed to hold his head high and it infuriated all of us. Walburga shrieked with delight every time Titus’ fist sank into Riddle’s broken form. Lucretia stood over him taunting and insulting and still he said not a word. I watched as they worked him over good and proper, his wand caught between my fingertips. You see, I was not the type to dirty my own hands. The roughness they bestowed upon Riddle did not upset me; on the contrary, I believed he deserved it. Tom Riddle had no right to think he was better than any of us. He was a nothing—An insignificant half blood that needed to learn his place not only in this school, but also in our world. I believed we were doing him a great service, teaching him this important lesson so early on in his life.

  
He needed to know that he was not one of us. He would _never_ be one of us.

 

By the time we were finished Tom was sprawled out on the ground; lying limp amongst the soiled debris of a long forgotten section of the dungeon. It seemed fitting somehow, and we had a hearty laugh as we took our leave of him and made our way back to our common room. I cannot say what possessed me to pocket his wand instead of simply tossing it at his feet as I stepped over him. Maybe a small part of me realized what he was _truly_ capable of and feared for all of our safety. Or perhaps I simply wished to taunt him farther by brandishing his wand openly whenever I had the opportunity to do so.

 

Behind the backs of Professors and mouthy portraits, mostly.

 

It was well into dawn when Riddle entered the third year dorms and although he said nothing, I could hear him just beyond the drawn curtains of my four-poster and I wondered if we had managed to break him; if he would retaliate this time.

 

The silence was deafening and I had just begun to drift off to sleep when his quiet voice filtered through my curtains. “My wand, Malfoy.” His voice was as calm and as even as it ever was and as I blinked in the darkness I couldn’t help but wonder how a thirteen-year-old boy could harness so much self-control.

 

When I pulled back the curtain enough to peer out he was there, his blackened gaze like a pair of gleaming marbles in the fading darkness.  He looked surprisingly cleaned and put together despite his earlier torment and I will admit I was slightly taken by surprise.  “Give me one good reason why I should.” I said casually enough, although the drowsiness in my voice was somewhat comical still.

 

 

He stood silently for a long while and we regarded one another; both with our own unique agendas.  When he finally did speak, it was not at all what I expected him to say. “Because if you don’t give it back to me, I **will** kill you.” His tone and expression gave away nothing; they were the same dulcet vibe as always. It was the brief glean of unspoken fury in his gaze that inclined me to believe him and in that moment I have to say that I almost could respect his undeterred actions.

 

“And how will you accomplish such a thing with no wand?” I was flippant because I felt that I could be, and I was indignant because it still infuriated me that our poor treatment of him still had not managed to crack his perfectly constructed shell. Before he spoke again he drew in a shallow breath and if I did not know any better I would say that he looked slightly bored; as if explaining these things to me was beneath him.

 

“If you think I need a wand to kill you, you are more idiotic than you look.” His insult struck me, but not in the way that you might imagine. I found it humorous that this shabby boy, who has made a habit out of appearing unaffected, could manage to sound so passionate about a subject while still remaining so outwardly unmoved. Against my better judgment it intrigued me, and that right there was the first time I had looked at Tom Riddle with anything other than complete disdain.

 

 

 

 


	2. Sometime After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess you can teach a Slytherin a new trick after all.

**Sometime after**

 

“When will you learn your lesson?” The question was a simple enough inquiry and something that I asked him at least once a week. Yes, it is true. Since that night I had taken Riddle’s wand, I had been addressing him. Something had happened that night that had nothing to do with the beating that Tom had been given, and although I couldn’t put my finger on precisely _what_ it was, my displays of open distaste had ceased.  The moment I slid his wand out from beneath my pillow and handed it over, I knew I was courting trouble and yet here I was, weeks later, sat at his side in the Library pouring over Potions lines.

 

“Any lesson not taught by a proper teacher is not worth my time.” His tone was as it always was—Even and slightly honeyed. I had come to learn a great deal about Tom Riddle since that night, and it never ceased to amaze me how little things actually touched him. He was controlled and disciplined and over time I would realize that he was the purest form of all our Slytherin traits combined.  Never before had I sat and spoke with someone who regarded me as their inferior. I was a Malfoy; to say that I was not accustomed to such behavior would be a gross understatement.  His voice brought me back to the present and I blinked down at the half finished scroll in front of me.  “Are you a teacher, Abraxas?” He was looking at me now; I could feel the weight of his stare fixed on me like grappling hooks and I lifted my eyes to him and fixed him with a withering stare. 

 

Tom Riddle was anything but average and his behavior still grated on my nerves, but I tolerated him, and I could not tell you why. It was natural for my housemates to fall into line and follow my lead, and after time that is precisely what they did. I never once explained why I had suddenly decided I would tolerate Tom, and no one ever questioned it. Perhaps we collectively thought that he had proven himself that night, or maybe we were simply tired of warring fruitlessly with him. Whatever the reason was, by the start of my fourth year of schooling, Tom had finally been accepted into the Slytherin folds. It wasn’t as this new revelation seemed to matter to him either way, he still disappeared every evening to scout about the castle alone, and he still acted in the same manner as he had before. We were all beneath him, except now he could use us to his advantage.

 

I am no stranger to using someone to suit my own needs and I recognized this in Tom as well. By the time we were fifteen years old, Tom was well practiced in the art of charm for the sake of self-preservation. At the time, the unspoken shift in our house amused me. I took pleasure in watching my fellows barter with Riddle for the things that they thought they needed. When Titus required a passable and finished scroll of Charms lines, Tom provided it, and in return Titus served as his watchman the night he broke into the restricted section of the Library. Rigel was hopeless with Transfiguration, so Tom provided him with questionable Mnemosyne charms upon his fingers that would easily get the job done; even under the watchful gaze of Professor Dumbledore. Slytherins were nothing if not cunning and Tom outshone us all. I was the exception to this new system in our house. I never asked him for anything and he never inquired as to the reason.

 

By the time I returned to the school after winter holidays of our fourth year, I knew that Tom was up to something; although at the time I had no _real_ idea what that something might be. I attempted to follow him on one of his outings one evening, but he mysteriously disappeared in a Seventh floor corridor and I was left with more questions than I knew what to do with. I would like to say that this was an isolated event, but it was not. On yet another occasion I trailed him to a girl’s lavatory, and by the time I gathered enough senses to enter, he was nowhere to be found.  I would often lie awake in my bed at night, curtains drawn tight, and wonder what he was up to. Sometimes I would hear him come in and I would close my eyes and try to imagine the scene beyond my private compartment by my sense of sound alone.

 

It was the first day back to classes that Professor Dumbledore called me back after Transfiguration. Although I told myself that it had nothing to do with Tom, somewhere inside, I knew that it must be. For his part Tom did not even appear to have _heard_ the Professor, although I knew that to be a blatant lie because Tom Riddle was a keen observer and did not miss a single thing. When we were alone, the Professor closed the door with a wave of his wand and motioned to a front row seat for me to sit in. Reluctantly I slid into that chair and then I waited, because Slytherins knew when to keep their mouths shut.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, I cannot help but notice the budding _relationship_ between Mr. Riddle and yourself.” My gaze was fixed on him as he spoke, and although he did a very good job of trying to inflect sincere indifference into his voice, I could hardly miss the way he emphasized the word ‘relationship’ as if he found some humor in this. 

 

I do not know why I felt compelled to keep the details of my friendship with Riddle to myself, but I did, and I suddenly felt awash with protection for the boy.

 

“Tom Riddle is a Slytherin, sir. He is afforded no different treatment than the rest of us.” My tone was blunt while still managing to remain sincere; perhaps I had learned a thing or two from Riddle after all.

 

“I must warn you Mr. Malfoy, that Tom Riddle is not what he appears. I would imagine that a prominent and upstanding young boy such as you would take care with they types he chose to consort with. I would suggest you counsel with your head of house if you are ever feeling intimidated by Tom. In any way.” I wanted to laugh at these words, although I was smart enough to say nothing at all. Professor Dumbledore was leaning forward over his desk, fingers steepled together as he peered intently at me, as if trying to pull some hidden truths from me.  I still had no real idea why the Professor seemed to dislike Tom so very much, but his distaste had _never_ been so clear as it had that afternoon following Transfiguration.

 

After a few moments I spoke again, taking care with the words I chose and the tone with which I inflected them. “I appreciate your concern Professor. I assure you that I am being neither hoodwinked or coerced in any way, and if it happened to be that I were, I am confident in my ability to steer myself in the right direction.” When I finished speaking we stared across the desk at one another for an awkwardly long moment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Professor Dumbledore was trying to peer into my mind via an extremely subtle Legilimency charm; but he was a Professor, surely such a thing would be against the rules.

 

“Yes, very good Mr. Malfoy. Please do take care and watch yourself.” The moment had passed and the Professor had now shifted his attention elsewhere. I cannot deny that I felt instantly more clear-headed and I blinked several times and gathered my wits back to my person.  “Good day, Professor.” I nodded firmly as I rose from my seat and quickly made my way from the classroom. I had an overwhelming urge to put as much distance between Professor Dumbledore and myself as possible, and although I knew this gripping fear was nothing but my imagination working overtime, I cannot deny that it felt very real.

 

By the time I stepped back into the corridor beyond the walls of the classroom my confusion was quickly turning into anger. I felt indignant on Riddle’s behalf, and now more than ever, I felt the need to protect my fellow classmate in any way that I could. –Not that Tom needed protecting, mind you. He was more capable than any of us and I knew this well, but still my feelings persisted.

 

“Dumbledore attempted legilimency on you.” Tom was standing a short distance away from the classroom door and I turned back to face him as he spoke. When I said nothing he shrugged a shoulder and then closed the distance between us, and I have to say that although I was the taller of us, I felt infinitely smaller beneath his studious and calculating gaze.

 

“I thought that it might be so.” I replied honestly, and my tone was not concealing anything of my distaste of the matter.

 

Tom seemed to study me for a long time, and although Professor Dumbledore had regarded me much in the same manner, I did not feel the slightest bit uncomfortable beneath the weight of my fellow’s searching eyes.

 

“He’ll be keeping an eye on you now.” He said casually enough, and his expression gave nothing away of how he felt on this matter, or anything at all really.

 

“I haven’t anything to hide.” I said this plainly and honestly because it was true, but also because, Professor or not, I wasn’t about to let anyone decide my actions for me.

 

“Good. But I think a bit of occlumency practice might be helpful to you.” He spoke as if he didn’t really care either way and although I didn’t know him nearly as well as I thought I did, it made my lips curl into a smile all the same.

 

“Professor Slughorn will be expecting us.” He said as he set off towards the stairwell that led back to the dungeons, and I only stared after him for a moment before I quickly caught up and fell into step beside him.

 

There were no other words exchanged between us on the walk to Potions class, but still I felt as if something had shifted between the two of us. For his part, Tom was as unaffected as he ever was and I did not mind because I had finally come to accept him for the way he was.

 

The end of our fourth term was steadily approaching and Riddle had taken it upon himself to school me in occlumency. Under normal circumstances I would have found this situation humorous, because we were but mere children. But Tom Riddle was anything but a mere child, and he had proven that fact on more than one occasion. We would slip out of the Slytherin common room after dark and I would follow him down the dank corridors of unexplored dungeons, and I have to say that I felt uniquely privileged to be afforded such an opportunity.  Tom _always_ roamed the castle alone, and although nothing was ever said, I was well aware of the meaning behind such an act. He was patient in his teachings those first few weeks, never once losing his carefully honed temper or even raising his voice. Occlumency was not easy work and although I prided myself with my academic achievements, I was _not_ a natural.  “Try again. This time carefully clear your mind away, and focus on keeping me out.” His instructions were always simple and to the point, Tom was not the type to mince words. So it went this way for three months—Me sat on an upturned bucket trying to keep Riddle from invading my mind and him easily evading me; every single time. I will tell you that it should have been frustrating, being on the losing end of things, night after night; but it was not so. The more time I spent with Tom, the more I wanted, and without even knowing it I had been successfully ensnared by his charms more so than any of my fellows and without even realizing it.

 

The eve before the end of term I had a breakthrough. We had been at our private lessons for months to no avail. I was certain that Tom knew every inch of my mind like he knew his own and although it should have concerned me somehow, it did not. “Again.” He said and I obeyed. All of my thoughts concentrated on keeping him out only this time, I did not close my eyes, I allowed them to remain focused on Tom’s face instead.  He watched me in that indifferent way that he had about him and I felt a heat radiating from him that spread across my chest and down the back of my neck. I focused everything I had on building up that barrier to keep him out, and I think that I actually succeeded; at fifteen years old, I had managed to perform a marginally decent, albeit brief, spell of Occlumens.  I will tell you now, there is no feeling quite like having Tom Riddle himself knocking on the door of your own mind. I concentrated everything on my barriers to keep him out, and as we stood there, locked in a magically induced stare, I felt him slowly peeling back the layers to climb back inside my mind. After several intense moments the barriers between us crumbled and I was doubled over, panting and overheated. When I looked up at him he was as untouched as he ever was, although I would like to think that I was not imagining the faintest hint of respect that I thought I saw behind those dark eyes of his. I felt immeasurably jovial at having accomplished my task after so long. I wanted to pump my fist in the air and whoop joyously like I was at the Quidditch World Cup. My elation was quickly extinguished when he spoke, although not without reason.

 

“That was a weak barrier. I could practically _taste_ your thoughts just beyond. Again.” Tom was all business as usual and I could not help but smile because I think that it was the thing that I enjoyed about him best.

 

As I readied myself for another invasion of my mind I pondered about the magic I had just focused minutes before. The actual act of it didn’t seem that difficult, and I couldn’t help but ask myself if perhaps there was another reason why Tom always managed to slip inside my head so very easily.  Oh, I knew these to be dangerous thoughts, especially since Riddle would be trying to pry open my mind again in mere moments. But I could not stop myself.

 

Perhaps Tom had this power over me because I wanted him to.

 

Before I had time to prepare myself he was upon me once more, and I hadn’t even a chance to attempt to block him out before he was fingering my mind with a delicate force; much like he did when page turning the books he loved to read.  I knew what Tom would find when he looked inside my head and I know that I should have at least attempted to shield my thoughts and desires from him, but I did not. I have never been ashamed of who I am and have always lived by my own set of rules—I would not alter the way that I was for Tom Riddle, or anyone else.

 

Tom released me suddenly and I have to tell you that, after having him inside my head so often for so long, I had grown accustomed to the sensation of it. So much so, that when he pulled away I felt the loss. “We are finished.” He said and then he turned and headed back down the corridor towards our common room and I had to scramble off my seat and down the damp walk to catch up to him. No words were spoken between us and I sensed that Tom was unsure of how to react to what he had undoubtedly seen in my thoughts. By the time that we climbed into bed the silence was beginning to eat at me and it was behind the drawn curtains of my bed when I finally spoke to him.  “I wont apologize.” Is what I said, and my words hung there in the tangible darkness for many moments. “Nor will I.” Came his cryptic reply and then there really was silence.  For a long time I lie in my bed pondering the meaning behind his words. I couldn’t readily think of anything that Tom might need to atone for. On the contrary, Tom was an exemplary student and the pride of Slytherin.  I was confused and reluctant to sleep but eventually my exhaustion won me over and I fell into a slumber whose shadowy dreams I could not decipher.

 

The next morning we were leaving Hogwarts for the summer and I couldn’t help but notice how unusually quiet we all were. I think my fellows were reluctant to depart as I, and it pleased me to know this. As we embarked upon the path to the Hogwart’s Express we were a sight to behold. We were a proud group of Slytherin’s in our finest green and silver, all surrounding the boy that walked in our center, and we were untouchable.

 

Our leader.


	3. Everything Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth year is when everything changes.

**Fifth Year**

The summer leading up to my fifth year of schooling was an exceptional one. Summer holidays were the time that my family embarked on our annual trip to France at the request of my mother. She had known Nice as her home as a small child, and as such, we returned every year so that she might bask in the memories of her past. My mother was a peculiar woman and I will be the first to say that her relationship with my father was not a conventional one, but I loved her all the same. My father used to say that her soul was too wild to be contained, and as I grew up I came to appreciate her whimsical need for discourse and also for France.  She would strip me of my wizards robes and stuffy waistcoat the moment we arrived, and I would slide my hand inside of hers and allow her to lead me on all sorts of adventures. I can still see her in my mind’s eye; running beside a younger version of myself along the  _Cote d’Azure_ , her espresso colored hair bouncing wildly in every direction as she laughed and splashed at me from within the deep blue water.  My father did not enjoy the ocean and rarely stepped foot upon the warm sand, but that did not stop him from watching us contentedly from a safe distance away. As I got older our frolics on the beach turned into late-afternoon strolls along the waterfront promenade. My mother would walk between us with one arm linked with each of ours and I would breathe in the Mediterranean air and silently lament that London could never be this beautiful.

This particular year we picnicked atop  _Castle Hill_  with the entire city below serving as our blanket. We walked through  _Place Rossetti_  and dropped wishes into the grande fountain on the backs of muggle coins. We toured the breathtaking  _Sainte-Réparate_   _cathedral_  and even sat for mass. My mother held my father’s hands and mine in her lap, and I cannot deny that the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes brought about a quiet discord within me. I cannot recall ever having witnessed my mother cry, and to see it now was unsettling, to say the least.  It was much later when I discovered the reasoning behind my mother’s upset; we were standing on a viewing balcony at the  _Cote d’Azur Observatoire_  and her gaze was fixed on the ocean that spread out like a finely painted canvas in the distance.  _I think that I would like to rest at sea, right out there._  I turned to her as she spoke, my brows furrowing together with confusion.  _Do you see it, Abraxas? Look._  Her voice was soft, not unlike a delicate underside of a rose and as I followed her gaze out to the water, I will not deny that there was a growing sense of dread and sadness filling me.  “I see it, Maman.” I said this to her after a long while, and although nothing more was said straight away, I could sense the relief in her as she stood beside me.

By the time we returned to London I knew that my mother would not live to see France again. I was angry that a beautiful gift such as she could be taken from the world. I questioned longevity and the pursuit of life itself and I cursed the Gods above for wanting to rip her away from us. She was my mother, and my love for her was above everything that I had ever known. I had no true idea how my father would cope with this devastating loss, for as much as I adored my mother my father’s love for her was tenfold.  I will tell you that nothing can prepare you for death, especially when it comes at such a price. My mother’s condition was not only incurable, but it progressed quickly. By the time I was to return to Hogwarts for my fifth year she was gone, and for the very first time I had to escort myself to the train because my father was inconsolable.

The train ride back to school was a somber one. My friends offered their condolences and kind words but it did very little to ease the sting of loss that was running through my veins. I could not help notice Tom’s absence from our compartment and it seemed that none of my fellows knew where he might be. This concerned me enough that I departed our makeshift Slytherin quarters in search of Riddle. The train wasn’t that big, he simply  _had_  to be somewhere, and I found that I very much missed his indifferent demeanor. Tom Riddle would not bestow pity upon me, and despite the loss that I still felt, and would feel for a long time yet to come, I longed for that sense of normalcy.  I found him in a vacant compartment halfway down the isle, sitting straight and tall near the shaded window with an open notebook in his hand. Tom did not look up when I entered, nor did he cease his reading, and we sat in silence for a long while that I didn’t entirely mind.

“People die, Abraxas. That is what they  _do._ ” When Tom finally spoke his voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife.  We stared at one another for a long moment, neither one of us willing to be the one who looked away first.

“Yes.” I replied simply, my lips barely moving with the quiet uttering. I hadn’t come here for his pity and he wasn’t capable of bestowing it upon me; the situation worked out nicely for us both.

“Mortality is the greatest hindrance of us all.” It wasn’t so much  _what_  Tom had said as it was the inflection of it. He spoke as if the very idea of one’s own lifeline was unimaginable, and I know that he had yet to say much on the subject, but I will tell you, I had sat beside and conversed with Riddle for long enough to detect the subtle nuances in his tone.

“But still an unavoidable detail of life itself.” I watched him as I spoke and I did not miss the way his eyes narrowed slightly at my words, as if the mere sound of my voice drew on his patience.

When he spoke again his dark gaze was fixed so intently on me that I swear I could feel it beginning to burn holes in my flesh. “Any obstacle has the ability to be overcome, Abraxas, even death.” His expression hinted at things that I could not begin to imagine. From the subtle upward quirk of his lips to the dark brow that was only marginally raised, I knew Tom possessed knowledge that I did not.

“I would like to think when my time comes, I will embrace death with open arms; that I will be content in the life I have been allowed to live.”  Our conversation, like many before this one, had turned into a well-mannered debate.

“I yield to nothing. Not man nor death itself.” He was watching me carefully; of this I was certain. I knew him well enough to know that he was baiting his responses in such a way that I might ask more questions. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Tom wanted to tell me something, although I knew that to not be true. Even after the years we had spent beside one another, I no more considered him my comrade than I did my enemy.

“Death catches up to us all one day, Tom.” I smiled across the scant space at him because as far as I knew he could not tell me otherwise. Death was unavoidable; it was in inescapable complication of living. 

Years would pass before I finally understood the meaning behind this particular conversation between Riddle and myself. He would disappear for ten long years and come back to me a very different man before I could truly grasp the importance of this moment.

Tom said nothing in response and I took to watching him during yet another silence. I couldn’t deny that he looked somehow older, as if the handful of months away had aged him noticeably. He was stroking the pad of his thumb over the dark stone of the large insignia ring he now wore. I had never seen the ring on him before now, not that it came to any great surprise. Tom was a private person who rarely shared anything about himself with anyone, even me.

“Family heirloom.” He uttered without even looking up from his journal, and although his astuteness should have caught me off guard, it did not.

“Had a good holiday, then?” I didn’t really expect a straightforward answer to this question but still I asked it.

“My time away from Hogwarts was…enlightening.” This time he did look up from his pages, and he seemed to regard me in a curious manner. It was then that I felt the familiar tug of his presence at the corner of my mind. It had been so long that I had nearly forgotten and the sensation of it sent a warm shiver racing down my spine.

  
As always, I was an open book to Tom. He feasted on my thoughts and my memories like they were a fine delicacy and I allowed him because still I had nothing to hide.  “You’re mind is still weak. We will need to remedy that.” Whether the events stored in my head affected him in any way, I didn’t know. Riddle never said a word more than this, and I did not ask. The rest of the trip was met with silence. Tom was reading and occasionally scribbling down notes and I took to dozing lightly to pass the time. I never returned to my band of fellow Slytherins and they did not come looking for us. Being around Riddle was not like being in the company of my comrades, and although little was ever really spoken, his presence alone was preferred above all else.

 

Falling back into the routine of classes and meals was welcome and comforting and it did not take long to acclimate to another year of tight scheduling. I resumed my unofficial apprenticeship beneath Professor Slughorn and I did not fail to notice how little Tom was present. Even more so than years previous. It wasn’t until the first Slug Club gathering of the new year that I began to realize that Riddle’s words were more than just that; words. It was customary for our group to sit around a table with Slughorn at our center. We would converse and share tidbits of importance, and of course we would bestow upon our Professor, what ever form of praise or offering we had for him. Tom was in rare form that evening, piling compliment after compliment on the stout Potions Master, who gobbled them up like delicacies. He was baiting Slughorn for something, and as I watched I found that the annoyance of my past had given way to fascination. Riddle was the epitome of a  _snake_. All silver tongue and sharp wit. By the time the meeting was dwindling, Slughorn was jolly drunk on elder wine; compliments of a seventh year Ravenclaw who was also a member of our club.

We departed the meeting side by side and headed back towards the Slytherin Common room, and when Tom announces he’d forgotten his bag and that he would catch up, I wasn’t quick to believe it had been an accident.  Of course I considered returning to the common room, what reason had I to not take Tom’s words as the truth? In the end, my curiosity got the better of me and I found myself retracing my steps to Professor Slughorn’s classroom, where I stood just outside the door.  Of course, I knew this was dangerous territory. What was I to do when Riddle left the classroom? How would I explain my reasoning for eavesdropping? I decided to take my chances once the muffled sound of voices drifted through the slightly open door. I leaned closer, straining to hear what was being said. Truthfully I could make out very little and if I didn’t know better I would say that a preventative charm was at work here. When the word _Horcrux_  drifted clearly out the door my brows knitted together. I had never heard the word before this moment, although if it interested Tom, I was certain that it was important.

It was only a handful of minutes before Tom stepped out of the classroom a second time and joined me in the hall. I was prepared for the worst, and I was hardly afforded a second glance as he set off towards the common room.

“Are you not curious as to why I am here?” I glanced sidelong at him as we walked side by side, eager for him to say something; anything at all really.

“Not terribly.” He responded simply and without even affording me a glance. 

Of course Tom could simply invade my thoughts whenever he saw fit and find the answers to all of his questions, although maybe I was so plainly honest that he didn’t really need to go to such lengths at all. 

It was much later when we resumed our Occlumens lessons and my skin was alight with nervous static as I followed him down the narrow dungeon path.  “You haven’t been practicing.” He was looking directly at me as he spoke and I did not miss the slightest twitch of his dark brow as he spoke. Again I was faced with the unnerving sensation that Tom was somehow different than he had been at the end of our last term, although, as before, I could not put my finger on what it was.  When we began I surprised us both with my ability to draw up my barrier much easier than I ever had before. I was learning, and this both, exhilarated me and disheartened me.

“You need to focus, Abraxas. Professor Dumbledore will pluck your memory of that eavesdropped conversation right out of you mind, like a ripe piece of fruit.”  The confirmation that he did indeed know that I had been lurking outside the classroom should have embarrassed me, but instead I was pleased because it didn’t seem to bother him.

“It was not my intention to do so.” I added most earnestly, because the last thing that I wanted to do was to upset Riddle.

“Yes it was, and I will warn you only once about the consequences should you attempt something like that again.”  Never once did the tone of his voice deviate from its usual range, and I will tell you that  _that_  is the most dangerous quality to possess.

Every night that week I managed to erect the barriers surrounding my mind and became increasingly more skilled, and when Tom was finally satisfied he announced that his teachings were complete. I had known this time would eventually come, and while I simply nodded my head in acquiescence, I cannot deny that I was disappointed that it was so.  After that, Tom returned to scouting about the castle alone and I was left to ponder upon his whereabouts. One eve around the fire Titus made comment that I was obsessed with Riddle, to which we all had a proper laugh. Certainly there were worse things than an obsession with someone as diligent and driven as Tom Riddle. I had no proper explanation for my feelings regarding my fellow Slytherin, but I can tell you that I was becoming increasingly more attached to the boy, as time passed on.

Winter holidays came around faster than anticipated and much to my dismay, I would be spending my very first Christmas at Hogwarts. My father had sent word via our house elf that he would not be up to receiving me for holidays, and although I was wounded by this act of coldness, I could understand it. I knew my father would never be the man that he was when my mother still walked the earth and breathed in its air, and I suppose that I could not fault him for wallowing in his despair.  There was only one other Slytherin student who stayed behind that Christmas, and I think you can guess to whom I refer. Tom did not alter his habits in the slightest; not that I had expected such a thing, and as a result, most of my holiday time was spent alone.  I took the opportunity to brew several tedious and difficult potions I had been aching to experiment with, and since there were no other students to complain about the clutter, I was able to leave them simmering on the tables around our common room. Tom never inquired about the potions and I never offered proper explanations.

Our time together that winter was spent exactly this way.

It was an early morning when I awoke to find Tom’s bed still made from the day before. The sun would be rising soon and for all intents and purposes I should have been sleeping, but one of my potions required an ingredient insertion at a very precise time. I stifled a yawn with the palm of my hand as I tugged my robes around myself and shuffled out into the common room, where I found Tom sitting on the floor near the fire, propped up against the sofa sleeping. I paused and took in the scene lain out around him. There were various piles of parchment spread out all around him with varying degrees of tidy scribble upon them. My curiosity was peaking dangerously and I was torn between moving closer for a proper look and tending to my waiting potion. In the end I chose my potion because a part of me thought it unfair to invade on Tom’s privacy in such a way, even if he had been so careless to leave his private studies out for me to see.

After my potion had been properly curated I did move closer, but only enough that I could make out the softened lines of his face. Tom Riddle looked a much different boy when he was sleeping and I found that I rather enjoyed the smoothness and subtle stain of warmth about his sleeping skin. I will tell you honestly that I wanted to spy upon his paperwork, Merlin did I; but still I resisted on morals alone. It did not stop me from speculating about Tom one bit, and the longer I stood there watching him sleep, the more desperate I became to know his secrets.

  
When he woke it was with a jump and a start as if he had been shaken awake.  I remained where I was and allowed him the time to collect himself. When he turned his narrowed eyes on me I smiled in my way and after a long moment of scrutinizing, he silently dismissed his trepidation. Tom disappeared into the dorms after that and I did not set my gaze upon him again until dinner.

“Let me try on you.” I blurted rather suddenly over my half-eaten bread, and I could have sworn the fork that was mere inches from his mouth quivered only just.

He said not a word as he raised a bite of food to his mouth and when his gaze flicked up from his plate to meet mine, my ears quite suddenly felt as if they were caught aflame.

“Shouldn’t I be well versed in  _both_  sides?” I pointed this fact out earnestly enough, and when his gaze remained fixed upon me, I could not help but smile at him.

“Oh come now Tom, it is only fair.” I held little hope that he would grant me my request but still I persisted because I was determined to see a something of Tom that no one else had. Of course my reasons were utterly selfish, but I was a sixteen-year-old boy, it made enough sense to me to pursue.

 

After a long stretch of silence Tom placed his fork carefully on his plate and folded his hands in front of him. He stared hard at me and when he opened his mouth to speak I will not deny that my breath caught in my throat. “Go ahead and try.” His words were like dark strips of fine silk to my ears and they chilled me to my utmost core.

It was much later that found us sitting on the trunks at the ends of our beds in our dorm room. Tom was silent and looked terribly bored and I was perspiring heavily enough that I had thrown off my robes and rolled up my shirtsleeves.

“You’ll never achieve what you desire unless you take it Abraxas.” His fingertips tapped idly on the lid of the trunk he sat upon, and I turned his words over and over in my mind.

  
Tom was right, of course. If what I wanted was to crawl inside Riddle’s mind, then I was going to have to take it; he certainly was not giving it freely.  I concentrated every ounce of myself into focusing sharply on the boy sat across from me. I thought about peeling back the mental layers until I could touch what lie beyond. At first, nothing happened. But then, a sudden shift in the air around us and I had my first and only real glimpse inside the mind of Tom Riddle.

I am certain that you would likely take wild guesses as to what I saw when I briefly swam in his head, but let me tell you that I was not prepared for such a sensation. I had no real idea what I was doing, and as such Tom’s memories were jumbled and distorted. I saw brief flashes of angry children shouting. Another flash of a coppice of rocky caves beside the ocean. Severe looking schoolmarms brandishing rulers, a deceased bird lying beneath a tall tree, and for a fleeting second, the eyes of an unknown man as he fell beside two other fallen. 

When Tom forcefully ejected me from his mind we were both panting and I had not a moment to collect myself before he was up off of the trunk and standing over me, the tip of his wand pressed against my throat.  My eyes were wide with shock, but it was impossible to decide which of all of these things upset me the most. 

“If you  _ever_  do that again, I will kill you Abraxas, do you understand me?” For the first time since I’d known Tom his voice was stripped of it’s usual dulcet tones. He was panting and his wand hand was shaky and he looked nothing short of murderous.

“You’ve seen into my mind countless times Tom, you’ve nothing to worry about.” I pressed myself more firmly against his wand as I smiled up at him. I was not fearful of death, he should have known that from our conversation on the Hogwarts Express a few months prior. On the contrary, the brief images that I had seen in his mind only solidified what I already knew was there.

There was no horror that Tom Riddle could ever show me that would change the way that I felt about him, because against all of the odds, I had fallen for this mysterious and shabby boy.

I was in love with Tom Riddle.


	4. The cloud of unknowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets and murders and Horcruxes, oh my!

It was a balmy spring afternoon when I first laid eyes upon Tom’s diary. Upon first glance it looked like much of his possessions; worn and well used. I hadn’t seen it before that day, but that did not raise any suspicion in me. What reason had Riddle ever given me to harbor suspicion? It was sitting rather neatly on his bedside table in our otherwise vacant fifth year dorm room. I had returned after lunch to gather my things for next class and there it was. I couldn’t help myself as I stepped closer to Tom’s bed and allowed my fingertips to trace over the worn leather covering. Never once did I consider peering inside because for all of Tom’s secrecy, I respected him enough to stay out of his private affairs. That isn’t to say that I would never chance a glance inside of this particular diary. It would be many, many years from now that Tom’s diary found its way into Malfoy manor. I would be an old and withering man before my fingertips traced over its leather spine and finally pried open the cover, as they had longed to do so many years before. Of course, If I had known what truly lie inside at that time, surely I would have stolen the thing away and kept it for myself.

 

By the time I had returned after dinner the diary was gone, presumably carted away to places unknown by Tom himself. It would be weeks later before I saw the thing again, and even then it was only a glimpse that would be forgotten.

 

A fortnight later Titus, who was standing over me shaking me firmly, waked me rather suddenly.  There was a commotion in the castle and our head of house was nowhere to be found. As I sat up my gaze immediately cut to Tom’s still made bed and I will not deny the smallest sliver of fear that welled up inside of me. Slytherins are a resourceful bunch and it did not take us long to learn that there had been a death within the castle walls, presumably a student. Headmaster had ordered everyone to remain in his or her common rooms and as the time ticked past my fear of the yet unknown ate away at me.  When Tom appeared rather suddenly beside me I could tell you that I was both shocked and relieved to see him. He looked as cool and put together as ever, but I cannot deny the hint of excitement that I could see beneath his perfected exterior.  It wasn’t until breakfast the next morning that the news of the eve before broke, and it was indeed a student who had met her most unfortunate end, in the girls lavatory of all places. I felt pity for this girl whose name I did not know and would now never forget. As the day progressed speculation about the true nature of the attack mounted and it wasn’t until Tom Riddle himself stepped forward to offer a viable reason behind the murder, that I understood the true nature of it.

 

Another student I did not know, some oafish half giant, had kept an illegal pet within the castle and the girl in the lavatory had fallen victim to the beast. When I asked Tom how he knew this to be the truth he explained that he had witnessed the boy secreting the beast away and had simply put two and two together.  Of course I had no reason not to believe Tom, none of us did, and in the end he was awarded for special services to the school, which only fueled our great Slytherin pride even further. Everyone except Professor Dumbledore seemed overwhelmingly pleased with Tom’s brave actions to come forward and it came at no great surprise when the half giant was not escorted off to Azkaban, at the behest of Dumbledore himself. 

 

If anything, it only furthered my suspicion that there was some underlying discord between the Professor and Riddle.

 

 

It was the night following the murder and I was reluctant to drop off to sleep. All of my fellows were fast asleep in their beds and the raucous sounds of slumber rose and fell all around me. Tom was out as he always was, but there was something still eating at me that felt wary of his absence. I wished I had a way to locate him and I knew that any attempts I made would be fruitless, for he didn’t truly wish to be found. In the end I slipped silently from my bed and padded across the stone floor and down the stairs to the vacant common room below. I sat as near to the fire as I could and as I chewed thoughtfully on my bottom lip, I attempted to examine how foolish I was becoming. Tom had been slipping out of the Slytherin common room and traipsing about the castle for five years now, it was safe to assume he could handle himself out there. Yet still something unsettled me. I stared into the fireplace for a long time and it wasn’t until I heard faint and unsteady footsteps in the entryway that I was pulled from my thoughts.

 

“Tom? Is that you?” I maneuvered my way around the scattered furniture and stepped closer to the shadowy and narrow entrance between two walls that served as the entrance to our common room. All was once again silent and I was ready to admit that I’d imagined the footsteps when Tom stumbled out of the darkness and into my arms.  To say that I was caught completely unawares would be a gross understatement.

 

“Merlin, Tom, what have you done?” He felt lithe and deathly cold in my arms and as I helped him over nearer the fire he trembled violently in my grasp. Tom said nothing at first although he made feeble attempts to push me away. I cannot imagine how difficult it was for him that night. If there is one thing I have learned about Tom Riddle in all of the time that I have known him, it is that he loathes weakness and vulnerability. It was difficult for him to accept my offering of assistance, and as such I treasured the rare opportunity.

 

I will not make light of how ill Riddle appeared to me beneath the flickering firelight. His skin was splotched ruddy in random places and he was sweating cold like he had a fever, but it was his eyes that struck me the most. They were wild like an untamed thing and as we sat there on the rug before the hearth, I feared I did not wish to know what Tom had been up to after all.

 

It was a long while of silence before Tom stirred at all and when he did it was only to whisper dryly that he would like to go to bed. Gingerly I helped him to his feet and up the stairs that led to our sleeping dorm. He was a lithe thing but I could not deny the weight of him against me as we went and when I helped him beneath the thick duvet atop his bed he barely managed a nod before his eyes were fluttering closed again. I worried greatly for him that night and I would tell you that I did not sleep a wink. I sat myself on the trunk at the foot of my bed and I kept watch. I may not have feared death but I certainly feared the death of people I loved and cared for, Riddle included.

 

Of course, Tom would call me foolish and simple for it, but that hardly mattered to me.

 

Although I could not see the sky above I knew it to be nearing dawn by sensation alone. I knew my fellows would be rising up all around me soon enough and my gaze cut to Tom, still fast asleep beneath his coverlets. I crossed the room to the side of his bed and peered down at him and I was mildly relieved to see that his complexion had evened considerably. It wasn’t very long that I stood there before he spoke, and while I should have been surprised, I hardly was.

 

“I’m not dying, you don’t need to keep a death vigil.” His voice sounded terribly dry but I was pleased still to see that his veracity had returned.

 

“It wasn’t a vigil.” I said with a hearty smile upon my face. His eyes were still closed and yet I hovered there, silently itching to meet the dark gaze that I had come to know so well over a handful of years.

 

“You cannot lie to me, how you forget.” His eyes slid open to reveal themselves as he spoke and I smiled wider still because he looked just like the Tom that I knew and loved once again.

 

“I only wish you afforded me the same.” I replied honestly and then my smile faltered at its corners just slightly. My words were sobering and I wasn’t altogether sure why I had said them in the first place. Now was hardly the time to put up such a fuss.

 

Tom stared up at me for a long while and I stared down upon him. We were locked in an embrace that pertained to nothing physical at all and I was utterly captivated by what he might say to me next.

 

“Some things are better unknown.” His words were the same as they always were and although I would have liked to be cross with Tom, I was not.

 

“But what if I want to know?” My counter was met with a raised eyebrow that made my lips twitch only just.

 

“I’ve seen every piece of you there is to see, Abraxas and trust me when I assure you that you are better off letting these foolish arguments lie.” I will not deny to you that his words tore at my insides, because they did. Dreadfully so. We had come upon the point in our relationship where I had no choice but to question the solidity surrounding it. I couldn’t help but wonder why I wasn’t good enough to share Tom’s secrets and it would be years still before I understood that there would never be anyone good enough.

 

Tom Riddle was truly built to be alone.

 

“Perhaps someday you will tell me your secrets, Tom Riddle.” I smiled anew as I spoke, not wishing to let this day begin with a disagreement. I will tell you that for the briefest of moments Tom almost looked amused, and that alone was enough for me.

 

“Promise that you will come to me on my deathbed and regal me with stories of all the devilish things you do. Send me into the next life with a piece of you that I can carry with me in my travels.” I was sitting on the edge of his bed now, leaning closer as I spoke. For a long while he said nothing at all, just watched me with those inky black eyes that saw too much.

 

“I promise.” He said rather suddenly and I will tell you that I was as shocked as you undoubtedly are now.

 

By the time the week was over Tom was back to his usual self and activities and it was almost as if that night had never happened, although both of us were wiser than that.  I had no way of knowing what Tom had _really_ been up to that eve and it would be years and years before I was to find out that _that_ particular night was the very first time that Tom Riddle had split his soul.

 

His very first Horcrux, at the age of sixteen.

 

I know that I should have been appalled to learn such a horrible thing, but I was not.  I had always known that Riddle was a brilliant and capable wizard and it was easy for me to reason that even the darkest magic could be seen as beautifully amazing. I suppose Tom really had done me a great service by sparing me the truths back then, although I imagine that it was not truly his intention to _spare_ me as much as he simply did not wish to divulge information to me.

 

By the time our fifth year of schooling came to a close I was both ready and fearful to return to my family home. I hadn’t seen my father since my mother’s funeral and I was concerned of his wellbeing in both her and my absence. On the Hogwarts Express Tom sat in the center of the Slytherin compartment like a fitting leader. I couldn’t help but sit back and watch how my fellows fawned over him and were so eager to please him, and in turn how much he seemed to enjoy it. There was no denying that Tom Riddle was born for leadership and I wondered if my fellow Slytherins, like I myself, would willingly follow Tom into the gates of hell if he simply asked it of us.

 

King’s Cross station came sooner than any of us would have liked and I was not surprised to find not a soul waiting for me when I exited the vessel. I stood on the platform and watched as Tom made his way through the crowd towards a severe looking school marm and I was instantly reminded of that glimpse of his memories that now seemed like a lifetime ago. I watched the way she glared down her nose at him, as if he were some revolting or vile thing and as she forcibly snatched up his arm and led him away I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of life Tom must have. I was about to look away when he met my gaze. Oh, it was only a fleeting moment over his shoulder before he was tugged out of the station, but it was his way of asserting his dominance over me, even in his own absence. I knew better than to let my mind wander where Riddle was concerned and this brief exchange of gazes was his reminder.

 

Until next year, Tom Riddle.


End file.
